


This is the room one afternoon

by lettersandsodas



Series: Catching Signals that Sound in the Dark [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: BDSM References, F/F, Her Name is Root, Implied Masturbation, call her root bitch, ridiculous circling, root insults reese's taste, shipper!machine is the best machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersandsodas/pseuds/lettersandsodas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurling innuendo at Shaw becomes Root’s new favorite pastime when she gets back from Hong Kong.</p><p>Root's POV during/in the aftermath of Part 3: And wanting something warm and moving.</p><p>Note: This now has a second chapter because of reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Root interlude. It builds off of the previous part, so I recommend reading that first because this will not make a ton of sense otherwise.

Hurling innuendo at Shaw becomes Root’s new favorite pastime when she gets back from Hong Kong.

At first, she thinks of it like a DDoS attack. She amuses herself by barraging Shaw with lustful looks, flirtatious overtures, and kinky overshares until Shaw gets squirmy and irritated and hostile. She likes that she can get under her skin that way, likes the weight of Shaw’s anger when it’s leveled at her. It’s not as though employing flirtation to break Shaw’s composure is a hardship. Shaw is undeniably enticing with her hard little body and her gruff, stern focus that Root revels in destroying whenever she can.

Later, once they get to know each other a little better, Root thinks of the flirting more like a brute-force password hack, a ploy for access rather than an attempt at disabling. She still likes to make Shaw short-circuit on occasion, but mostly she likes testing how Shaw works. She throws little winks and casual touches and not so casual references to pain play at Shaw and watches how she responds. She wants to learn her limits, her code, and she relishes the fact that it’s surprisingly difficult to do. Shaw is blunt and straightforward and black-and-white in a number of ways, but somehow she’s still volatile. Even the Machine can only predict her about two-thirds of the time, which is far less accurate than virtually anyone else Root has encountered on their missions. Achieving randomness, true unpredictability, is one of the most difficult challenges in coding, and Shaw's ability to accomplish it so effortlessly fascinates her.

The fact that she wants Shaw, that she’s wanted her since the moment she held an iron to Shaw’s neck and watched defiance and interest flicker over her face, is a fun side benefit.

And then things change.

Shaw comes into the library looking grumpier than usual and exhausted the day after she shoved Root against the wall. Root is still on a bit of a high from her success at provoking Shaw into physicality, and she shifts cheerfully and easily into her usual banter.

“Rough night, sweetie? Maybe there’s something I can do.”

She’s prepared for Shaw to grump at her, but what happens next catches her completely off guard.

“Maybe. I’ll let you know,” Shaw replies with a pointed look at her breasts, and just like that, a warm wave of desire uncoils in Root’s belly like someone flipped a switch.

(She supposes someone did.)

It takes the words right out of Root, and she blinks in surprise as Shaw goes back to ignoring her. She doesn’t really recover. After that, her attempts at flirtation feel less like careful, calculated attacks and more like a series of drunk texts.

Root has gotten used to seamless movements and perfect control with the Machine buzzing in her ear, and the feeling of clumsy awkwardness is disorienting. She surprises herself by not minding it. In truth, she hadn’t taken the possibility of a repeat of their little safe house festivities very seriously given Shaw’s firm and obvious boundaries in that area, and the hint that one might be imminent has her prepared to throw all sorts of games she’s been playing.

She doesn’t feel particularly inclined to be patient, not with this, but she forces herself to be. “I’ll let you know,” Shaw said, and Root heard it for what it was: _I know what you want. Let me come around, and maybe I’ll give it to you_. So she still circles Shaw just enough to remind her that she’s there but doesn’t badger. Mostly, she settles in for the siege.

It’s not as prolonged as she fears, and it ends, ironically enough, when she’s enduring a siege of a different sort.

It’s almost embarrassing how it happens, really. The Machine sends her on a mission that involves stealing some sensitive materials from a safe deposit box at a local bank. It’s hardly the caper of the century, especially compared to some of her other recent errands, but she’s tired and maybe a little bit over-cocky, and the whole thing goes horribly awry thanks to the kind of random human clumsiness that not even She can predict. The surveillance footage isn’t a problem, of course, but the bank manager’s memory isn’t so easily erased. His consultation with a police sketch artist results in a remarkably accurate likeness of Root being showcased on the local news and posted up around town. The eye color and hair descriptors are all off—Root always wears a wig and color contacts for these sorts of things, she's not an amateur—but even so. Local and federal authorities are looking for her, and Machine urges caution until the heat dies down somewhat.

 _A week_ , She tells her. _Off the streets for seven days. The library._

Root agrees grudgingly. As much as she would like to believe herself impervious to residual angst, the library still makes her feel uneasy. A visit here and there is fine, especially when she knows Shaw will be around. But the thought of being confined there for a week, even without bars to separate her from Her and the rest of the team, fills her with something akin to dread.

Still, she has a purpose, and she can’t jeopardize it by being stubborn. The Machine is never wrong, and Root trusts Her in this as she trusts Her in everything else.

She calls Harry to tell him she’s coming. By the time she makes it to the library, she finds the bench she slept on during all those weeks she spent in the cage pulled out and positioned by the computers. Neither of them says anything about it, but Root shoots Harold a look of thanks, and Harold nods at her with a tight smile before looking away.

That night, she drifts off into a dreamless sleep only to be awoken what feels like a second later by a familiar, gruff voice.

“For fucks sake, are you _living_ here now?”

She blinks the tiredness out of her eyes and rolls over to see Shaw standing near her bed, looking down at her with a slight frown. “Hello to you, too, sweetie. And don’t worry, it’s not a permanent thing. I’m in hiding for the week. Machine’s orders.”

“Huh,” Shaw huffs, and stares at her for another second before heading over to the refrigerator to rummage for something. “I thought that sketch in the paper looked familiar. The hair was wrong, though.

“Wig,” Root explains unnecessarily as she pushes herself up and clears her throat to get the sleep out of her voice. She stretches her legs, feels the tension stringing through her muscles. The bench is definitely not the worst place she’s ever slept, but it’s not the most comfortable either. It’s too short, and her ankles hang over the edge in a way that makes her calves and lower back cramp.

Her eyes blink shut as she feels her muscles relaxing into the stretch. When she opens them again, Shaw is standing over her with an unreadable look.

“Must be weird for you,” she says as she nods at the bench. For a sleepy second, Root thinks she’s referring to the length, but she realizes as she takes in Shaw’s open, impassive gaze that she’s not. Something in her chest flutters. Shaw may not have budged on their little sex issue yet, but she’s been doing this more and more lately, surprising Root with moments of perceptiveness and empathy when she least expects them. It makes her feel pleasantly off balance every time.

“I didn’t know you cared, Shaw.”

Shaw huffs again. “Whatever. Go back to sleep.”

Root opens her mouth to say something, but Shaw has already started her retreat. Root settles for watching her go, noting the way Shaw pulls the door closed behind her but doesn’t let it shut all the way. A thin sliver of light still drifts into the room, and Root feels herself smile as she settles back into her pillow.

The next morning, Root is busying herself with some dull but necessary debugging work when she hears a faint scuffing sound and looks down to see what looks like a magazine skidding across the desk. She picks it up. It’s still in the plastic. It’s also porn.

She glances up with her eyebrows raised to meet Shaw’s smirking face.

“You’ve been in here for a whole day,” Shaw says. “I thought since you couldn’t keep your hand out of your pants for ten minutes the last time the Machine had you cooped up, you might need a little something.”

The safe house was, in fact, not the last time the Machine had her cooped up, but she's too amused too correct her.

“Shaw, did you go shopping for me?”

Shaw scoffs. “No. I found Reese’s secret stash behind the gardening books. Guess he doesn’t want a supercomputer monitoring his jerking habits.”

Root chuckles. “That does explain the somewhat… uninspired content,” she says as she looks over the busty blonde on the cover. She cocks her head and wrinkles her nose as she holds the magazine up. “Not really my thing, Shaw."

She pauses to consider the situation, then decides that this is as much of an invitation as she's likely to get.

"I’m more of a brunette kind of girl," she adds, breaking out her best seductive wink.

Shaw’s eye roll in response is epic. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Root.”

“Oh, Shaw,” Root says, letting her voice go liquid. “I never beg.”

Shaw shakes her head in that way she does when she’s torn between annoyance and amusement at Root’s complete lack of subtlety, and Root feels a rush of affection. She likes their banter, likes that Shaw has chosen to seek it out, even if she doesn’t acknowledge or realize that’s what she’s doing. She likes the way that Shaw seems so impervious to her charms much of the time. Most of all, she likes the way that Shaw just stands there and let’s Root goad her even though it sometimes makes her so exasperated that her lip twitches and her fingers curl against her palms. It’s cute. And revealing.

Root looks back at the magazine. Shaw is sharing a joke with her at Reese’s expense, and it makes her feel warm inside, grounded. Ongoing flirtation aside, she's still keenly aware that she's only a probationary member of the team. Being included at all makes her feel touched and grateful, and those feelings seem as much like a sign of progress as anything.

Still, she’s not a saint, and she can’t resist nudging Shaw. Just a little.

“You know, Shaw, I can’t say that I mind a supercomputer knowing my… ‘jerking habits,’ as you put it—“

Shaw scoffs. “Don’t I know it.'

“—But. I suppose I can see the appeal of a tactile approach to these things. Having to sneak off to buy the magazine and go through all the trouble of hiding it. It’s all so delightfully retro and furtive.”

“Glad you approve," Shaw says with a smirk. "You should let Reese know.”

“Mm, I can’t say that I do,” she replies as she thumbs through the pages. It turns out that she wasn’t entirely joking when she said that this particular magazine wasn't her thing. She appreciates directness as much as the next girl—more if her little infatuation with Shaw is any indication—but all the harsh lighting effects and splayed legs are just… unsubtle, even for her. And the looks on the women’s faces are so vacant and passive, and really, who wants that?

(John, apparently. Boring porn for boring people.)

“It's a little obvious and vanilla for my tastes."

"That said," she continues, deciding to transition her nudge to a straight-out push, "I am trapped here for another six days. If you did want to bring me something that wasn’t just about trolling the big lug, I’m sure I could find a way to express my gratitude.”

Shaw lets out a sharp laugh, gives her a look of incredulity. “You’re asking me to bring you porn.”

“Well, you already did that,” Root says with a smile. “I’m asking you to bring me porn I might actually like. Think of it as a challenge.”

She winks again, grinning. Shaw rolls her eyes.

“Not going to happen,” she says, shaking her head as she leaves, and Root’s smile widens as she tosses the magazine aside in favor of watching her ass as she goes.

The next morning, a scuffing sound wakes Root from a deep sleep, and she blinks in confusion. There’s no one there when she rolls over, but she leans down to find another magazine lying on the floor by the bench. It’s a vintage S&M rag, one of the illustrated ones that has a story line. The cover features a topless, brunette woman bound with her hands over her head. Her breasts are thrust forward as she arches to cast a fearful look over her shoulder, and the woman behind her is leering menacingly and wielding a whip.

Root raises her eyebrows.  _Impressive,_ she thinks, as she picks up the magazine. She settles back into her blankets to flick through its pages. Shaw does have the most remarkable ability to catch her off guard, not to mention excellent taste.

“I don’t mind if you watch,” she calls out into the apparently empty room, and she smirks as her hand works its way down to the elastic of her pajama pants.

Yeah, it's definitely on.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw having a waiting game of sorts, during which Root ponders their shifting dynamics.
> 
> Or: Somehow this ended up with a second chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I had more to write about Root than I originally thought. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Root isn’t certain of whether or not Shaw sticks around to watch girl time, but she definitely shows up in the aftermath. The same day that she drops the magazine by Root’s bed, Shaw strolls into the library in the afternoon with a tennis ball in one hand and a 32-ounce soda in the other. There’s nothing on her face to indicate that anything is different, but Root supposes there wouldn’t be. She can feel it in the air between them anyway, and she relishes the little thrill of excitement that she always gets right before she lets her balance slip enough to send her teetering into the unknown. She can’t yet visualize the shape that this new aspect of their game is going to take, but she’s certainly excited at the prospect of discovering it.

Root raises her eyebrows at the soda. “Didn’t they ban those in New York?”

“I have my sources,” Shaw replies with a scowl, and then sucks in defiant mouthful of beverage as she plops down in a chair across the room. Bear comes trotting over to her immediately, and she gives him an affectionate scratch behind the ears before she sends him scampering off after the tennis ball.

“Harry doesn’t like people playing fetch in here, you know," Root says with a smile.

“‘Harry’ isn’t here,” Shaw retorts, and throws the ball again.

“Mm, and why are you? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, I mean, but twice in one day. A girl could get spoiled.”

Shaw rolls her eyes.

“I’m here for Bear,” she says, in a tone that implies that that should have been obvious. She hurls the ball dangerously close to one of the monitors, and Root winces as she watches Bear nearly collide with the desk.

Root mostly goes back to her coding after that, because she’s learned by now that few things alienate Shaw more thoroughly than being openly stared at for any length of time. She doesn’t want to push it, not today, not when there are so many contours of their situation that are left to tease out.

Still, her sense of self-preservation has always been close to non-existent, and she allows herself to sneak glances at Shaw every so often. Root is not a dog person, not really, but she likes to watch Shaw with Bear. Shaw’s body language is usually shot through with a kind of thrumming energy and tension that she responds to on a basic level, and Root has long been aware of the fact that she’s dangerously attracted to the parts of Shaw that seem always on the verge of exploding. When she’s stroking or playing with Bear, though, Shaw’s posture is so easy and relaxed that she almost looks like a different person, a person who doesn’t shoot people for a living and rig booby-traps on her apartment door. As much as she desires all the versions of Shaw that are raw and barely constrained, Root has to admit that she likes this other, more peaceful version of her too, likes the way Shaw smiles when Bear makes a good catch or chuckles as he fumbles in his excitement and topples over stacks of Harold's books.

Maybe, she’s beginning to realize, she just likes Shaw.

“Can I help you?” Shaw grunts finally.

Apparently, Root wasn’t being as subtle as she hoped. Oh well. Subtlety has never really been her thing.

“I just wanted to thank you for the little present this morning.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Root says, a smile teasing at her lips.

“No."

Shaw tucks the ball into her pocket. “Bear, afliggen.”

When Bear obeys, Shaw slurps down the last bit of her soda and makes her way over to where Root is sitting. Root is about to open her mouth to lob another little bit of banter her way, but Shaw keeps walking until she’s clearly in her space, and Root’s lips curl into a smile instead. Shaw’s legs are nudging against Root’s knees, and Shaw braces her hand on the desk and leans forward until she and Root are only inches apart.

Root’s eyes drift automatically to Shaw’s breasts, and then her mouth, and she feels herself lick her lips.

 _Admin will return in approximately 7 minutes and 25 seconds_ , the Machine blares in her ear.

“Shaw—“ she starts to say.

Shaw gives her a shit-eating little smile as she reaches down to throw her cup in the trashcan under the desk and then pushes away. When she takes in the look on Root’s face, she smirks like she’s just won something.

“I’m off to do whatever the hell I want until we have a new number. Give Finch and Reese my best,” she says as pats Bear on the head a final time and heads for door.

Root huffs out a surprised laugh as she watches her go. Oh, this could be fun.

The next day, Shaw comes around again, even though the Machine still hasn't given them any information to work with. She’s wearing her usual tight black pants paired with a thin black tank top that makes Root want to lick along the muscles in her arms, and Root is struck by the distinct feeling that she’s in this way over her head. It’s exhilarating.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to commence her probing of their revised boundaries. The phone rings with a new number, and Shaw is out the door with a .45 strapped to her thigh and an eager gleam in her eyes before Root can so much as wish her luck.

When she comes back later that day, she’s covered in soot, and her tank top is torn at the bottom where she’s clearly taken a light knife swipe to the abdomen. She pulls up the shirt to inspect the wound, and Root's breath catches at the sight of her taut abs and the little ribbon of blood that dripped its way down the curve of her hipbone. The cut is nothing too serious in Root's estimation. It probably won’t even need stitches. Root wants fervently to nudge her fingers into it while she smothers Shaw with a hot press of her mouth. They’ve never kissed, not even after Root dropped to her knees in the safe house and made Shaw come all over her face. Root wants to know what that's like, wants to breathe in the warm gasp Shaw would release as she scratched her fingers over the cut and made Shaw bleed for her. She wants to feel Shaw's teeth in her lip and Shaw's strong fingers pulling against her scalp while their mouths move together.

She doesn’t bother to hide her desire as she lets her eyes flit between Shaw’s wound and her lips, and Shaw smirks at her before directing a gruff farewell to Reese and leaving for the night.

“Is it just me, or has Shaw been hanging around the library more lately?” She asks the Machine a few minutes later, when Reese has cleared out and Harry is off in the other room taking care of a few final details from their case.

It’s the first they’ve talked in almost two hours. The Machine has been quieter since Root has started working with the team, and she's been surprised to find that she doesn’t mind it. The relative quiet is less an absence than a companionable silence, something they’ve been able to lapse into now that Root has been successfully retasked and they’ve come to share an understanding. It occurs to Root that it's something special to be able to sit quietly in the presence of god, and she relishes the moments in which she's able to do so almost as much as the moments when the Machine sees fit to reveal worlds to her.

Maybe it’s what other people feel like when they meditate, she thinks. Or when they pray.

The Machine buzzes to life when she speaks. _Primary Asset Shaw’s time in the library has increased by 57% since Analogue Interface has been present._

Root smirks.

 _The probability of a causal relationship is 96%_.

“Mm. Thought so. Shaw is totally into me.”

_Confirmed. Primary Asset Shaw exhibits signs of sexual attraction around Analogue Interface 52% of the time._

“Mm. What about the rest of the time?”

She gets a text:

 _Amusement: 16%_  
_Concern: 4%_  
_Defensiveness: 8%_  
_Irritation: 26%_  
_Mild Annoyance: 67%_  
_Rage: 6%_

Root laughs. “Well, amusement and concern are good, right?”

 _Indeed,_ The Machine says, and then pauses in the way that She sometimes does when She wants to breach a subject with Root that She feel uncertain about.

“What?” Root prompts gently.

_You are attracted to Primary Asset Shaw as well._

The Machine been doing that more lately, shifting into the second person instead of calling Root ‘Analogue Interface’ all the time. The intimacy of it makes Root feel warm inside, and she grins.

“You’re going to make me blush.”

“And yes,” she adds unnecessarily. “I am. Did you do that on purpose?”

_Do what?_

“I see you’re learning to play coy. I like it. Did you have me partner with Shaw on purpose?”

_You required assistance from an asset skilled in combat and espionage. Primary Asset Reese resented you for your actions against Admin and was not an optimal candidate. Likelihood of positive outcome with Primary Asset Reese: 23%. Probability of success with Primary Asset Shaw was significantly greater: 77%._

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

The Machine pauses again. Detecting malice and reading people's actions are easy for Her, but She’s still learning all the nuances of human meaning and speech. She and Root have been working on it together.

_You would like to know if I anticipated that you would feel attraction to Primary Asset Shaw.  
_

“Yes,” Root confirms.

_You were very skilled at hiding your activities from me before we met. As a result, I knew less of your preferences than I knew of most people’s when I dispatched you to pair with Primary Asset._

The words make her uneasy, and she frowns. “But at that point, I’d already told you so much.”

_You had, yes. But human beings are not always aware of their preferences, and so there were things that you could not tell me, even if you wished to. There were many parts of you that were hidden from me._

Root’s frown deepens. Secrecy was necessary in her old life, but the knowledge that she ever had a self-imposed distance from the Machine still sends a sharp pang of regret coursing through her. It’s a painful reminder of the emptiness she used to inhabit, and of her own inability to recognize that emptiness for what it was.

The Machine senses her distress, as She always does. _It is different now,_ She assures her. _You are different. Now I see you, always.  
_

“Thank you,” Root says.

_And I suspected that you and Primary Asset Shaw would have compatibility, yes.  
_

Root smiles softly. “You suspected right.”

They lapse back into companionable silence.

That night, Root is curled up on her bench, contemplating their conversation.

“I like the idea that you know me better than I know myself,” she says into the darkness. “It’s comforting. It makes me feel safe.”

 _Yes_ , She replies simply, and then shifts into piping in the soft white noise that always lulls Root to sleep.

Shaw doesn’t come by the next day, but she’s back the day after to see Bear and to bring him one of the fancy doggie cookies that she splurges on every now and then. The cookies are clearly from an upscale pet boutique, and Root amuses herself by trying to picture Shaw shopping there. She’s going to have to remember to ask the Machine if there's video of that.

Just like the first time, Shaw largely ignores Root as Root pretends to ignore her, but every part of Root’s body is keenly aware of her presence. It’s strange. Root can acknowledge that physical embodiment is still a necessity at this point in the evolution of things, but she can’t say that she’s ever been especially committed to it. Her body has never felt like _her_. It’s always been a means to an end, and she's always taken care of it in so far as she needs to: she eats when she needs to eat, sleeps when she needs to sleep, and seeks out sex when it suits a larger purpose or when the ache becomes distracting. Sometimes, she doesn’t even do that. It’s not unusual for her to make it deep into an afternoon before she realizes she hasn’t eaten anything that day, or for her to have her work interrupted by the Machine gently informing her that she requires rest.

Around Shaw, though, Root is a body. She’s the little flutter of happiness she feels in her chest when Shaw drops by for no reason and the surge of affection that she feels as she watches Shaw ruffle Bear’s fur. She’s the little twinges of delicious uncertainty she gets when Shaw rebuffs her and the delight that courses through her when she doesn’t. She’s the ache she feels low in her gut and between her legs when she lets her eyes rove over Shaw’s small, muscular form, or when Shaw fixes her with that intense, blank gaze that always makes her feel like drowning.

It should feel base and stupid, but it doesn’t. With the Machine connecting her to something larger and this little dynamic with Shaw grounding her where she is, Root feels strangely human and more-than-human at once. Complete.

She smiles as she finishes an e-mail from her latest cover identity. The webcam on her laptop blinks, and a message pops up on her screen.

_You are happy._

“Yes, very,” Root types back.

Shaw’s in and out of the library for the rest of the week, sometimes bantering, sometimes pretending Root isn’t there at all, and sometimes just _looking_ at Root until the heat between them threatens to tip into something else. Every time, she disappears too soon, jotting off on a mission or a food run or to nowhere at all and leaving Root’s nerves feeling like exposed wires.

On the seventh day, Shaw shows up just as Root is shoving her few possessions back into her bag in preparation for heading out to her new temporary residence.

She doesn’t say hello, and Root doesn’t either. She gives her a hard look.

“I assume the Machine got you a hotel.”

 _Finally_ , Root thinks. Her pulse makes itself heard in her good ear, and she has to fight to stifle her smile.

“Yep. Nice place couple of blocks from here. King bed and everything.”

She doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, and Shaw raises her eyebrows. Part of her thinks she shouldn't push it like this, not when she wants this as much as she does, but it turns out that there are aspects of her personality that not even the Machine can alter. This, this part of her that courts disaster, that always nudges just a little too hard and a little too far, is one of them.

“Good room service menu, too, or so She tells me.”

“Were you planning on inviting me, or did you just want to kill some more time until I get bored and decide to scratch my itch with someone from a bar?”

Root does let herself smile now. The knowledge that Shaw wants this, wants _her_ enough to push the issue her makes her feel buoyant.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d invite me back to your place, Shaw.”

Shaw scoffs.

“Not a chance. My apartment is my space.”

She pauses, lets her eyes rake pointedly up Root’s body before her mouth quirks into a malicious little smile.

“Besides, my place wouldn't work for what I have in mind. I want to get my security deposit back.”

Root’s smile shifts into a grin as desire hits her in the gut like a sucker punch. She realizes abruptly and with perfect clarity that if they go forward with this, Shaw is going to destroy her, to immolate her from the inside until what’s left is irreparably and irrevocably different than what burned away. Shaw going to be the death of her in one way or another, and, in that moment, Root craves that more purely than she’s ever craved god or order or anything.

“Well then,” she says, trying her best to keep her voice even and light, “Would you like to come back to my hotel room, Shaw?”

“No,” Shaw says with a smirk, but she follows Root anyway.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soda thing was totally inspired by [this](http://parksofinterest.tumblr.com/post/130217704383) brilliant post from [parks of interest](http://parksofinterest.tumblr.com), which made me realize the myriad ways in which Shaw is basically Ron Swanson.
> 
> I find Root much more difficult to write than Shaw, for some reason. Comments are super appreciated, and constructive criticism is welcomed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Neutral Milk Hotel's "King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1":
> 
> _This is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you._
> 
> Also, I joined tumblr so that I could post silly short things there: [@urbanfervor](http://urbanfervor.tumblr.com/).


End file.
